The Pick Up
by goodlife23
Summary: Harry Potter is enjoying a night out with his fellow Auror trainees when one of them suggests a bet: pick up the hottest witch in the pub, the redheaded chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. Written for the HarryandGinny Subreddit Challenge.


The Leaky Cauldron was one of the only pubs to survive the war as most shop owners had closed up and moved abroad. When the war ended, business began booming; now the Leaky was the most popular spot in wizarding London. Young witches and wizards began making it their local, much to the chagrin of the old-time patrons.

As such, it was not uncommon to see Harry Potter leaning against the wall next to a dart board while his fellow Aurors boasted about their latest collar or who scored the previous night. They were a rambunctious bunch, most barely older than Harry. Neville Longbottom often tagged along with Harry to these wild night outs if only to chat up the bartender, Hannah Abbott, who he had recently started seeing. Ron came too, when he could, but between helping George out at the shop and his regular dates with Hermione, Harry knew the Leaky was often the last place Ron wanted to be.

Tonight, it was Neville who had to convince Harry to come out with the group. Harry begrudgingly obliged, hoping at least to see a familiar face or two at the bar. He took in the crowded scene in front of him. _Pretty busy for a Thursday night_. He was interrupted by a pint of brown ale being shoved in his face.

"Drink up, mate," said Simon Cauldwell, a fellow trainee with a permanent 5 o' clock shadow and a constant shit-eating grin. "Rookwood was a big nab. You deserve a few for that one."

Harry grimaced but accepted the beer. Rookwood was caught, that was true. The list of fugitive Death Eaters had finally dwindled to a manageable level. It was bittersweet, Harry felt, because the sooner the Death Eaters were rounded up, the sooner Ron and Neville would leave him. Both had enlisted with the Aurors immediately after the war, but neither heart was truly in it. Not like Harry's. Ron had told him directly he was out once the last Death Eater was rounded up; Neville was a bit cagier about his plans until Harry'd got him good and drunk one night and he revealed his desire to apprentice for Professor Sprout.

Soon, he would be alone. Well, not quite. He had his new friends, fellow Aurors who felt it was their calling. At least they had that in common. Very little else, unfortunately. The Aurors, both wizards and witches, were a rather confident bunch. More like God's gift to wizarding kind, according to Chelsea Higgins, a mousy-looking Auror whose small stature betrayed her superiority complex.

When they weren't talking themselves up, Harry's Auror class chased robes. Every weekend was about who could sleep with the most witches or wizards. Even Harry had to admit he was impressed by just how many some Aurors were able to rack up. His new friends were great company and loads of fun. But even amongst his friends, being Harry Potter came with complications.

"Is tonight the night we get you laid, Potter?" a short muscular Auror named Perrison who insisted on being called 'Tank' asked.

"Fat chance," interjected Chelsea, sipping a red cocktail. "Fame is absolutely wasted on this one."

Harry merely shrugged and took a long sip on his beer. He connected eyes with Neville who failed to hide his grin.

"What I can't understand," began Simon, "is how the most famous wizard in the world, the man who faced You-Know-Who, what, four times?

"Six times, or seven," corrected Neville, earning a glare from Harry.

"Alright, seven," continued Simon, his voice rising above the noise of the teeming pub. "The man who can face down the most evil, vile wizards and witches, yet can't even get up the nerve to chat up a pretty witch."

Harry felt his face burn with embarrassment and a bit of indignation.

"Even when they practically throw themselves at him," said Tank. "Remember last Tuesday when those two little numbers were drooling over Potter at first? The fuckin' plonker didn't even have to approach 'em, right Chelsea?"

"Aye. They were all fawning over you. 'Can I get your autograph? Can I touch your scar? Want to see our flat?'"

The group burst out laughing as Chelsea mimicked the two witches with impressive accuracy.

"And do you remember what Potter said?" asked Simon to no one in particular. "Bunch of stammering and looking at his trainers. Seriously, have you ever even spoken to a witch?

Before Harry can answer, Chelsea interjected. "Never have I seen someone have a conversation in less than five words. "

"Oi!" Neville said. "I don't know why you lot are complaining." He gestured at Simon and Tank. "Those two witches went home with you thanks to Harry's awful flirting skills."

"Thanks for the help, Nev," Harry said, rolling his eyes. Turning to the group, Harry chugged the rest of his ale. "Now, if you're done winding me up, who wants another drink?" Four hands shot into the air and Harry left to fetch another round. Along the way, he darted in and out of the throngs of people, careful to keep his head down, lest someone recognize him. The Auror robes were enough of an attention-grabber.

Despite his attempts to be as inconspicuous as possible, Harry still encountered several well-wishers and over-enthusiastic drunks looking to shake his hand or take a picture. A few rather sauced witches and wizards attempted more intimate gestures of gratitude, which Harry more forcefully resisted. Finally, he reached Hannah at the bar, who gave a sympathetic smile and filled his order. Harry levitated his tray of drinks back through crowd, only to find his group, save Neville, in a trance of sorts.

"What gives?" he asked, placing the drinks on a nearby table. Chelsea merely nodded to the direction of the Leaky entrance. Shuffling through the door was at least half the roster of the Holyhead Harpies. They were a lively bunch and immediately commanded the attention of the room. The chatter and noise focused entirely on the new arrivals.

It wasn't as if there weren't other Quidditch pros in attendance. Harry noticed several Puddlemere chasers taking up residence at the end of the oak bar, slinging Firewhisky back as fast as bludgers shooting across the pitch. And a Cannons beater was nursing her drink in the corner of the pub, the occasional patron stopping by with an encouraging word and a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Harry silently thanked Hermione for convincing Ron to attend that exhibit at the British Museum tonight.

But the Harpies were always the focus wherever they went. As Harry watched them make their way through the suffocating crowd, his eyes instinctively found the redhead at the front of the group, like a torch showing the way through a dark cave.

"What do you reckon they're doing here?" asked Simon.

"Pre-season exhibitions in London all week," Harry answered and Tank quirked his eyebrow in response.

"I don't remember any bloody adverts for Quidditch." he said, sipping the drink Harry just handed to him.

"There weren't any," Harry explained. "Every pre-season the teams all get together for private scrimmages. No fans, no press. Just Quidditch." The group all stared at Harry. Neville simply rolled his eyes.

"How's you know all that if it's so private?" Tank asked.

"Er, I heard Robards talking about it. He coordinates the security for the event." The rest of the group seemed appeased by Harry's answer and returned to ogling the Harpies.

"Well, boys," says Chelsea as she accepts her red cocktail from Harry with a nod, "you all say you can land any witch. Now's your chance to show your mettle."

"Meaning?" asked Simon.

"Go and collar a Harpy, git!"

"You don't think we could?" asked Tank incredulously, straightening himself.

"Well, I know Potter here is a lost cause," Chelsea said, and Neville snorted. "But what do the rest of you say? A galleon says none of you can take one home tonight."

Tank and Simon glanced at each other and their faces lit up. Chelsea had just proposed two of their favorite activities in one; chasing witches and gambling.

"I'm in," they both said at once.

"Nev?" she asked.

"Er, well," Neville stuttered out. "I'm kind of, you know, with someone."

Immediately the group crowded around Neville, causing him to retreat further into himself. Only Harry hung back, a small smile appearing on his face. They began peppering Neville with questions.

"It's Hannah Abbott, the barmaid," he blurted out, attempting to halt the barrage. They all turned to look at Hannah, her face red as she struggled to uncap several butterbeers and plate an order of fish and chips at the same time. She glanced up, as though feeling the set of eyes on her from across the room, and gave Neville a wide smile. Neville's cheeks turned red and he smiled back.

"Way to go, Nev!" Simon said, patting him on the back. "Now we just need to focus on getting the other Hero of Hogwarts laid." Harry blushed and took a large swig of his butterbeer.

"We get to choose our targets first," said Tank, giving the group of Harpies a once over. "Then we can help Potter."

"Nope," said Chelsea. "I'm not letting you tossers pick. You'll just choose the loose ones."

"Oi!" Simon protested. "We aren't savages. We're gentlemen in search of fine, appropriate, dare I say prim young women."

"Aye," said Tank before straining his neck to leer at the assembled Harpies, who were now congregating at the bar and dispersing drinks among themselves. "Which ones are the loose ones?" Chelsea glared at him and he threw up his hands. "Just so I know who to avoid."

"Stay away from the two tall blondes. Unless you want to go where Avery, Jones, and Pennington have all been before."

"Pennington is into witches?" Harry asked, joining the conversation.

"Pennington is into whoever is into her," said Chelsea. "Us Aurors can be just as loose."

"If we can't go for the blondes, then who can we pursue?" Tank asked.

Chelsea took an appraising eye towards the Harpies before she stopped at the smallest one. She gave a mischievous smile as the tiny Harpy was approached by a rather smarmy looking wizard in designer robes. He leaned in to whisper something in her ear, brushing a lock of red hair from it, when she grabbed his wrist and firmly twisted it, causing the wizard to grimace and stumble down. Now eye-level with the wizard, the Harpy said something with a bright smile and the wizard practically ran to the opposite side of the room. The Harpies all laughed and toasted to the night.

"Her," Chelsea said. "_Definitely_ the redhead."

Tank and Simon clearly missed the encounter: after taking a long look, they enthusiastically agreed to Chelsea's choice.

"No one can pick a hot bint like a lesbian," Simon said, earning a punch to the shoulder from Chelsea.

Harry had been far more observant. He wore a scowl on his face until the Harpy grabbed the wizard's wrist, which caused him to nearly snort his butterbeer out of his nose. But now he was back in a rather depressed mood, brushing off Neville as he attempted to engage him in conversation. Harry subtly moved away from his fellow Aurors and retook his position leaning against the post.

"Let me take first crack at her," Tank pleaded.

"And turn her off to blokes for the rest of the night?" Simon responded. "I'm going first. I'm older."

"Guys," Neville interjected, "maybe you should try someone else."

"Leave it, Nev," said Tank. "You're spoken for. Let us single men have our fun." Neville turned to Harry for help, but he merely shrugged. Neville caught something in Harry's eyes. It reminded him of the times they worked on a case together and Harry had figured some big clue out and was starting to piece it all together. It was the same look Ron had when they played chess.

"One of you had better get a move on," Chelsea said, pointing her glass at the redhead, who was now being chatted up by another potential suitor. "Looks like you've got competition from the entire pub."

"Merlin, you aren't kidding," Simon said. He took a large swig of his ale and straightened his collar. "Poor gents don't stand a chance, do they? Women can't resist the uniform." He gave Harry a wink and sauntered over to the group of Harpies.

Harry looked on with intense interest. Simon was known as a lady's man. Even Chelsea admitted his posh upbringing, windswept hair and piercing blue eyes were at least somewhat appealing, if you liked that sort of thing. Harry watched with growing jealousy as Simon sidled into the empty seat next to the redheaded Harpy and engaged her in conversation, making sure to puff out his chest enough to expose the shiny gold medals adorning his robes.

But after only a few minutes, Simon abruptly stood up and quickly retreated back to the group. His face was a bit pale and his eyes were as wide, as if he had just seen a boggart.

"Shot down in 5 minutes!" shouted Tank. "A new record."

"That was brutal," Simon said, shaking his head. "Every line I put out there, she just buried." He turned to Tank. "Save yourself the trouble, mate. She's beautiful but not worth complete humiliation." Simon shook his head and downed the rest of his ale.

"What did she say to you?" Harry asked, his voice almost giddy.

"I don't quite know. It happened so fast. All I know is that her name is Ginny and she has, and I quote, no use for pretty-boy hotshot Aurors who are better at sticking their wand up their own arse than at a dark wizard or in a pretty witch."

Harry, Neville, and Chelsea burst out laughing while Tank took a nervous sip of his drink.

"Ginny, eh?" Tank said. "That sounds familiar. Ever hear that name, Potter?"

"Er, might have heard it somewhere."

"I think maybe Auror Dawlish's wife is named Ginny or something. Anyway, are you stalling, Tank? Not too late to back out," teased Chelsea.

Tank straightened himself. "Couldn't call myself a hotshot Auror if I did that now, would I, love? But maybe I need to rethink my plan a bit." Tank shucked off his Auror robes to reveal a pair of muggle jeans and a sharp V-neck. Tank's biceps and shoulders strained against the tight sweater. This earned a whistle from Neville.

"The Harpy don't like Aurors eh? Let's see how she likes brawn." And with that, he muscled his way through the crowd, eventually shouldering himself between Ginny and a fellow Harpy, who gave him a rude gesture before turning to another teammate.

The group watched as Tank chatted with Ginny. He appeared relaxed, except when he'd casually flex as he stretched his arm across the back of Ginny's seat. For her part, Ginny seemed to like Tank, smiling and even laughing from time to time. Harry had a slight grimace on his face but continued to lean nonchalantly against the wall. Eventually, Tank put his hand in the air and gestured towards Hannah on the other end of the bar. Hannah returned with a round of firewhiskeys, well more than enough for the two of them. Ginny immediately began passing the shots to her teammates. They all toasted and took their shots, Tank included. Then Ginny did something that made Harry smile widely. She shook Tank's hand like a proper English gentleman and turned her back to him, reengaging with her teammates.

Tank's face turned dark and he shook Ginny on the shoulder. The two began exchanging tense words. Harry immediately tensed up and began towards the two when Neville grabbed him by the arm and shook his head. Harry turned back to see Tank running over to them shouting "Get 'em off me!"

His hands waved frantically in front of his face as bat-like objects flew from his nose. Chelsea and Simon were immediately at his side, trying to contain the destruction. Harry calmly walked up to Tank, muttered an incantation while waving his wand, and the bats dispersed immediately.

"Bloody hell!" Tank shouted, his nose dripping with snot. "That woman is mental!" Harry merely smirked as he conjured a towel for Tank.

"Guess no one can claim the prize," mused Neville.

"Not everyone's gone yet, have they?" Chelsea said, gesturing to Harry.

Simon and Tank, who was finally clear of the remnants of Ginny's hex, both burst into laughter. "Potter?" Simon said. "You think he'd have a chance after the two of us got shot down so brutally?"

"Why not? He is the Chosen One."

"Fat load of good that's done for him so far." Tank thumped Harry on the back. "No offense, mate."

"None taken," Harry said with a scowl.

"It's pointless anyway," Simon interjected. "Look who's chatting her up now."

The group looked over to see Ginny talking with a man Harry begrudgingly had to admit was extremely attractive. He also happened to be extremely famous.

"Is that-" began Chelsea.

"Gavin Colmes," Harry said, the scowl on his face growing larger with each touch of his fingers on her skin.

Gavin Colmes was the seeker for Puddlemere United, and the reigning league MVP. He was also Witch's Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor, edging our Harry for two years running. Gavin had been linked with every famous witch in England, including several Quidditch players.

"Well, we found the one bloke in here more famous than you," said Simon. "Time to pack it in boys. The game is up. Don't think any witch can turn him down."

"She ain't turning him down," Tank agreed. "And if she doesn't, then we might as well send Chelsea in."

"I wouldn't mind the challenge," she said with a wink.

Harry stood staring, brooding a bit too openly. When Gavin put his hand on Ginny's knee, he slammed his glass down on the table with a loud thud.

"All right, enough of this," he muttered to himself. "Oi! Nev."

"Yeah, mate?"

"Can you do me a favor?" Harry leaned into Neville and whispered something to him, and Neville gave Harry an appraising look.

"You sure about this?" he asked.

"Absolutely," Harry said with resolve.

Neville turned to the rest of the group. "I'm going to go say hello to Hannah."

"Give the wife our best," teased Simon. As Neville walked away, the group moved their attention from Ginny to their latest case, arguing over the correct tactics to trap a blast-ended skrewt. Harry half-paid attention, keeping his eye on Neville as he sidled up the bar next to Ginny and Gavin. Hannah came over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, at which point Neville whispered in her ear. Hannah glanced over his shoulder at Harry, who quickly nodded towards her. Hannah smiled and then made her way over to Ginny, leaning over the bar to tell Ginny something. Ginny turned over her shoulder, barely making eye contact with Harry, but enough for him to notice her raising her eyebrows.

Harry gulped the last of his drink. "Wish me luck,' he announced to Simon, Tank and Chelsea. "I'm off to pick up the red-headed Harpy."

Tank's jaw dropped and was soon matched by Simon and Chelsea. "Mate, don't do it!" he said, wiping his nose. "It's suicide."

"Been there, done that," Harry calmly replied.

"But that was just You-Know-Who," Simon said, almost pleading. "This is far more dangerous. Trust me. Let Gavin do his thing. Why not go after those blonde ones?"

"No, I know what I want." Harry marched with a confidence normally reserved for trips to Azkaban, the type of deliberate confidence that masked how frightened he actually was.

"I can't watch this," said Tank, hiding behind his glass. Simon silently agreed, but Chelsea looked on with a curious expression.

Harry swerved his way through the crowd as he neared the bar. After passing what seemed like a never-ending sea of people, he finally found himself standing next to Ginny, who was casually leaning against the edge of the oak countertop. Harry moved his body between her and Gavin.

"Excuse me, mate," Gavin said, his eyes narrowing at Harry, whose back was to him. Harry turned and stared at Gavin, almost daring him to look upwards toward his hairline. Gavin implicitly complied, and his eyes grew wide as he took in the faint lightning-shaped scar.

Gavin quickly looked to Ginny. "I've got to use the loo, Ginny. Be back in a bit." He quickly scurried away. Ginny barely acknowledged him. She was staring at Harry, who had returned to meet her gaze. Their eyes connected, almost challenging each other. Finally, Harry broke the ice.

"Er, hi." The words stumbled out of his mouth. "I'm Harry."

Ginny cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "That's it? 'Hi, I'm Harry? Surely you can do better than that."

"I'm Harry Potter," he said with more authority and confidence, as if those were the magic words to unlock the holy grail.

Normally, the person on the receiving end of this introduction would immediately lift their eyes to Harry's forehead. _It's not their fault_, Harry had tried to convince himself every time it happened. _Everyone looked_. But Ginny didn't. Instead, her eyes remain fixed on his, and he couldn't help but smile, which did draw Ginny's eyes lower.

"Now that's a much better pick up line," she said while staring at his pearly, only slightly-crooked whites. Harry relaxed his shoulders.

"Is it?" he asked. "Practically every bloke with a winning smile has tried charming you. What makes me so special?"

Ginny shrugs. "Maybe it was their over confidence. They thought they had a shot. With you, it's like you know you're out of your depths. Perhaps I find that endearing."

"Hey!" Harry protested. "I can be quite confident when I need to be."

Ginny eyed his robes, reaching out to run a finger over a button hanging limply by a strand of thread off his coat. "Is that so? You're probably incredibly domineering when going after dark wizards. It's just me you become a puddle around, right?"

"Seems you have that effect on a lot of wizards. It also seems like you could have your pick of any of them in this room, and maybe a few witches to boot."

Ginny lazily played with the straw in her mostly-empty glass, allowing the remaining ice to chink against the sides. Her feet barely grazed the bottom rung of the barstool and she struggled to hook her toes under them to stop the frantic bouncing of her leg. "That's entirely possible. But I'm not looking for just any wizard, or witch for that matter. I need one that can really impress me. After all, the league's best chaser can't just take home some random. So, Harry," Ginny said, her voice suddenly getting low and husky, "what makes you worthy?"

"Well, I did defeat Voldemort and save the world," Harry said with unnatural bravado. Truthfully, he'd never think to brag about such a thing. He'd rather the whole world forget it was him who did it, but right now he was more than willing to play that card.

Instead of awe, Ginny yawned. _Well, fuck_. "Didn't his own curse bounce back at him? Kinda defeated himself, didn't he? Besides, I met the wanker. Not that impressive." Ginny stared deeply at Harry, challenging him to respond, daring him to get mad at the insinuation. Instead, Harry threw his head back and laughed. Ginny couldn't maintain her steely expressions and broke down herself.

"That is a hell of a way to break the ice," Harry quipped. He caught Hannah's eyes and threw two fingers in the air. Seconds later, two butterbeers floated their way in front of Harry and Ginny.

They clinked glasses together and took healthy sips. "So," Harry said, "you play Quidditch?"

"Your tremendous Auror skills strike again. Such impressive deduction skills. Yes, I'm starting chaser for the Holyhead Harpies."

"Ah, yes. They're pretty good. Giving Puddlemere a run for their money. Though I hear their seeker is top notch. Tough to beat a team with a top-level seeker."

"Is that so? Are you some sort of Quidditch expert in addition to our savior?"

Harry took another swig of butterbeer and wiped the moustache off of the stubble right above his upper lip. He noticed Ginny biting her lower lip.

"Let's just say I have some first-hand knowledge of the importance of the seeker position."

"You played in school?" Ginny asked with interest. "Any good?"

Harry shrugged. "Won a few games for my House. Seemed I was missing as many games as I played though."

"Your team must've been put-out by that."

"It was fine actually. We had an excellent replacement." Harry gave a slight smile and Ginny's cheeks turned pink. She quickly chugged her butterbeer and motioned to Hannah for another one.

"But tell me about your career," Harry continued. "Is Quidditch what you always wanted?"

"Since I was about six. I used to sneak out at night and nick my brothers' brooms. They never glommed on."

"Brothers?" Harry asked, inching himself closer to Ginny.

"Five," Ginny said as if it was the normalest thing in the world. "All older. And one of them trains dragons. That frighten you?" she challenged.

"Oh, it terrifies me."

"Not surprised, most blokes would run."

"That's not what terrifies me," Harry says. "What terrifies me is the fact that you have all those older brothers and yet you're the scariest one of the lot."

"Is that so? You don't seem too scared right now?" Ginny leaned into Harry's space, her eyes enticing him. He could count the freckles on her nose, on her neck, across her chest.

"Believe me," he said, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, "I'm a complete bundle of nerves inside. I just put on a good front."

"Really? You seem like a natural at this."

"Maybe it's just the company that brings it out of me." He wiggled his eyebrows and Ginny responded by rolling her eyes dramatically.

"So you've done better than any bloke in here," Ginny says. "Plenty of blokes can get on the broom and do a few laps, but not many can get the Quaffle through the hoop."

"Are you questioning by ability to score?" Harry asked, clutching his chest in mock outrage.

"Well?" Ginny said, urging him with his eyes.

"What if that's not what I really want?" Confusion flashed across Ginny's face. "What if what I really want is to take you for a ride to the countryside on my bike tomorrow?"

"We can't. There's Sunday lunch at the B-"

"_Ginny_," Harry interrupted with an imploring look on his face.

"Oh! Right," she said, her face turning red once again. "I mean, how could a girl say no to such an offer?"

"Great! It's a date then." Harry smiled widely. "I look forward to our date tomorrow."

Ginny tilted her head and gave Harry a look that made him feel like he made some egregious error. Then she frowned, turning him into an even larger puddle, practically a lake at this point.

"So I guess this is goodnight." she said with a touch of sadness.

"Who said that? Tomorrow will be our second date. As far as I'm concerned, tonight's just the beginning."

"Second date, huh?" Ginny asked. "Moving a bit fast there, Potter."

"What can I say? I'm a man of action."

Ginny gave him a once over. "Looks like it," she said with an appreciative grin.

"I think this pub night is about finished," Harry said as he scanned the room, his eyes lingering over his friends across the bar for a few seconds. He turned his attention back to Ginny, his gaze boring into her. "Care to escort me home?"

Ginny snorted up the butterbeer she had been sipping. She conjured a napkin and wiped the fizz from her nostrils. "Aren't you the Auror? Not to mention the bloody Chosen One?"

"Yes, but these streets are quite dangerous, and you look far more imposing than I ever could. Plus, I'd always trust you to keep me safe."

"You know all the right things to say tonight, don't you Harry?"

"Maybe I'm just lucky tonight."

"Oh, you'll be getting plenty lucky tonight," Ginny said with a wink.

They finished the last dregs of their drinks and Ginny linked her arm in Harry's. Together they wove their way through the bar, Ginny tugging Harry along. Just as they reached the pub exit, Harry stopped her.

"I need to settle up with my friends. Meet you outside?"

"Of course. Make sure you remind your friends that they make shit Aurors. Terrible observation skills."

Ginny went to leave, but Harry grabbed her arm and twirled her to him, their faces stopping mere centimeters from each other. Without a second of hesitation, he leaned down and captured her lips with his. The kiss was short and soft, but it still left Ginny weak in the knees. They broke apart and Harry gave her a Cheshire smile, which she returned. Ginny stepped out into the cold winter's night as Harry approached his group.

"Here's a few galleons for the drinks," he said, tossing the metal on the table. Simon and Tank stared, mouths hanging.

"Where were you hiding those moves, Potter?" Chelsea asked with a casual grin.

"I can't bloody believe it," Simon added, finally collecting his thoughts. "You are absolute tits with women and yet you just pulled the hottest witch in here."

"You confound her, Potter?" asked Chelsea, not believing her question for even a second.

"Yeah, spill," said Simon. Tank still looked shocked. Several barflies had made camp on his lip.

"What's to spill?" Harry asked. "We talked, made plans for tomorrow, and now she's walking me home. Pretty standard you ask me."

"Bullshit," said Tank finally, anger rising in his voice. He jumped off his stool and confronted Harry, getting right in his face. "She gave me the brush off. Simon here too and we know how to chat up women way better than you. So what gives? You did Confund her, didn't you, lousy cheat!"

Simon and Chelsea looked at each other uneasily. They had each witnessed the Potter temper and began moving the empty glasses out of the way in case Tank went flying backwards. But Harry merely flashed Tank a winning smile and laughed.

He patted Tank on the shoulder twice. "It's like you guys always say. "I'm the fucking Chosen One."

Harry turned and exited the pub, waving cheerfully at Neville and Hannah as he left.

Once outside he wrapped his arm around Ginny's waist as she snuggled into his body. "That was a fun change of pace." she said, her nose rubbing against his coat.

"Sorry about that," he replied as they walked along the empty London street. "A bloke can only see his girlfriend get hit on and ogled so much. Guess we're officially out in the open now. You ok with that?"

"Have been since the beginning," Ginny replied. "I did kiss you in the Common Room in front of everybody."

"No," Harry said quickly. "We are not having this argument again."

Ginny rolled her eyes dramatically and pouted. "You're no fun."

"Let's go back to my place and I'll show you how much fun I can be."

Harry hugged her tightly and the pair vanished into the night.

Several hours later, the trio of Aurors were draining the last of their drinks, toasting to a rather historic night, while Neville helped Hannah clean up.

"Can't believe Potter nabbed the Harpy," Tank grumbled for the tenth time.

Simon patted him on the back. "Cheer up, mate. Maybe she just felt incredibly sorry for the poor lad. A humanitarian, that Ginny is."

Chelsea, perhaps a bit drunker than she believed, let out a huge burst of laughter. Simon and Tank looked at each other, confusion on both their faces.

Chelsea simply laughed harder. Finally, she composed herself, grabbing a napkin to dab the mascara that ran into her eyes.

"You two are really terrible Aurors, you know that?"

"Oi!" Tank protested, "Where do you get off?"

"Nevermind," she said, packing up her bag and standing to leave. "I'm sure you gits will be invited to the wedding. Just make sure not to wear anything that clashes with red."

With a last laugh, Chelsea departed the pub, suddenly feeling very happy for Harry Potter.


End file.
